


dear forgiveness, i saved a plate for you

by orphan_account



Category: Show By Rock!! - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 08:40:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5961112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Rom and Shuu finally get their act together and move in together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dear forgiveness, i saved a plate for you

**Author's Note:**

> sorry this is so self-indulgent??? this is going to get retconned the moment season two is released but i don't care, please just let my gay furry boys be happy

They decide to move in together, and it is an unmitigated disaster.

Not the moving in part. The moving in part is fine. There are properly packed boxes and a single car (for Rom) and an entire van from a moving company (for Shuu) and everything arrives safely. No, the disaster happens when Shuu decides to throw a housewarming party, and then Rom agrees because he forgets that said party inevitably means putting the rest of Shingan Crimsonz and Trichronika in the same room. A room that also contains copious amounts of alcohol. And so.

In the end, Crow says something vaguely disparaging about Shuu, something or other about his hair, and Shuu just looks amused but Kai is definitely _not_ , and so they end up getting into a shouting match that somehow mutates into an impromptu battle of the bands outside their new apartment, which is probably entirely impractical considering that Shingan Crimsonz’s drummer and Trichronika’s vocalist are both missing, but if there’s one thing Rom has never had a single doubt about, it’s his band’s ability to be a public nuisance.

He opens his mouth to say as much to Shuu, but then the door slams shut and suddenly Shuu’s mouth is on his, hands tugging insistently at his clothes, and _oh_.

“Shuu—” he starts to say, but Shuu just shakes his head, starts kissing along Rom’s neck.

“I want you inside me,” he murmurs, teeth scraping across Rom’s skin. “I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

“You—”

“I wanted to blow you,” he continues, “right in the next room, with everyone listening to you moan. I wanted everyone to know that you’re mine.”

“God, yes,” Rom says, because Shuu is pulling his shirt off and guiding him towards the bedroom— _their_ bedroom, Rom thinks, with a slight note of hysteria.

“I wanted,” Shuu says. “I wanted you to fuck my mouth and then come all over my face—”

“Do we,” Rom pants. “Do we even have a bed yet?”

“I paid the movers to set it up.”

Rom sighs. “You’re impossible.”

Shuu grins, bright and easy and happy, and Rom’s heart clenches in his chest and he thinks, _yes_.

Then Shuu is pushing Rom onto the bed, the mattress dipping underneath their weight, and he leans down to kiss him, soft and slow. Rom’s hands come up to grip at Shuu’s shoulders, moving down to his waist, his back.

“I want you,” Rom says, his voice hoarse. “Shuu—”

“You can have me.” Shuu smiles, and places a hand on Rom’s chest. “Whatever you want. I’m yours.”

Then Rom flips him over to reverse their positions, and then clothes are shed. He leans over, kisses every inch of Shuu’s body until he’s squirming underneath him; he trails kisses over Shuu’s neck, his chest, his stomach, then lower down, across his hips, his thighs.

“Rom,” Shuu starts to say.

“Yes?” Rom says, if only to see the way Shuu scowls beneath the flush that’s spread all across his cheeks, down to his chest.

“Hurry up,” he huffs.

“Hurry up _what?_ ”

Shuu scowls even harder, and Rom grins.

“ _Please_ ,” Shuu says. “Rom, please, please touch me, please— _oh—_ ”

And then Rom licks at Shuu’s rim, and Shuu _screams_.

“ _Shit_ , Rom, oh my god, are you—Rom— _oh god_ —” Shuu breaks off into a moan, and Rom has to hide his smile.

It’s exhilarating, being able to watch Shuu come apart like that, words dissolving into incoherent moans, feeling the way Shuu shudders underneath his touch, the way Shuu’s thighs are practically twitching; it’s even more thrilling to know _he’s_ the one who’s doing this, the only one who knows Shuu well enough to make him shake apart like this. He circles the rim with his tongue, then pushes in, and he’s rewarded by the way Shuu’s ankles cross and uncross behind his head, back arching impossibly off the bed.

He pauses to look up at Shuu’s face—he’s a complete mess, hair clinging to his forehead, damp and matted with sweat, and he’s never looked so beautiful.

“Let me see you come,” Rom says, pushing a finger in without any preparation at all, and Shuu finally unravels with a long, breathy moan.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Shuu says, panting. “Fuck, Rom, let me—let me help you—”

Rom lets himself get pushed back onto the bed, back hitting the mattress, and he barely has time to react before Shuu’s mouth is on him, going down on him with absolutely no finesse at all; he just closes his eyes and gives himself over to it, and when he finally comes it’s with Shuu taking him all the way down the back of his throat, with Shuu’s name on his lips.

Afterwards, they lie in bed together, Shuu’s nose pressed against the crook of Rom’s neck, and he says, “I’m really happy.”

And Rom runs his fingers across the goosebumps on Shuu’s back, and he says, “Yeah. Me too.”

-

And then they have their first fight in the morning.

Rom’s alarm wakes them both up at six-thirty, and he groans and tumbles out of bed.

“Don’t go,” Shuu mumbles.

Rom turns to him—he’s already awake, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. Rom’s heart clenches in his chest.

“I have to work,” he says.

“Don’t.”

“I have to.”

“Come back to bed.” There’s a hand on Rom’s arm, pulling him back, but he shrugs it off.

“Shuu,” he says.

“If you’d come with me to Judas all those years ago you wouldn’t have to work a shitty daytime job now,” Shuu says, and Rom feels it like a slap right across the face.

He turns away. He can’t look at Shuu right now.

“You don’t mean it,” he says.

“I do.”

Shuu’s voice is low, quiet. Rom gets up, turns away.

“Call me when you’re done being an asshole.”

He’s still pissed off the whole way to work, and he finds himself wondering if maybe getting back together was a mistake after all; but then two hours later he gets a text message, and it’s a photo of Shuu in the mirror, hair rumpled and a tired smile on his face, with bruises and marks all over his chest and neck and shoulders.

 _Look what you’ve done to me_ , it says, and because some things just never change, Rom knows it means _I’m sorry_.

He texts back, _I’m not done with you yet_ , and because some things never change, he knows Shuu knows it means _I’m sorry too_.

-

And then they fall into a routine.

It’s strange, because living with Shuu is both completely foreign and achingly familiar at the same time—he’s still not a morning person, and he still has amazing bedhead, and he still clings to Rom in his sleep; but the scent of his soap is different now, and he doesn’t refuse to eat his vegetables anymore. There are new habits, new patterns. Some of his smiles are sadder now. Sometimes he holes himself up in his studio and refuses to speak to anyone, and it hurts.

Sometimes it hurts, but it’s okay, because Rom knows he’s different too. And maybe they’re both different in a good way, because they fit together now, all the rough parts and the jagged edges interlocking perfectly.

And maybe that’s enough.

-

They’ve been living together for almost a month when Rom comes home one day to the faint strains of piano music, and it makes him stop in the doorway, listening. He sets his briefcase down on the couch, takes off his tie, shrugs his jacket off.

He follows the music, quietly pushes the door open to see Shuu sitting in front of his piano, absently pressing at the keys; he’s wearing one of Rom’s t-shirts, and it’s oversized and slipping off his shoulder but he doesn’t seem to notice. He plays a few chords, stops, then plays the same chords again, looking deep in thought.

“Writing a new song?” Rom says.

Shuu startles, turns around, relaxes when he sees who it is. He nods, and turns back to the piano.

“It’s been a while since I’ve watched you play,” Rom says. Shuu turns to look at him again, then shifts on the seat, an invitation for Rom to join him, and it’s – it’s way too familiar, too much like a musty room just like this, tucked away in a corner of their high school, practically an eternity ago now.

Carefully he sits down next to Shuu, their sides pressed together as Shuu continues to play. It’s different now, shifting to one of his Trichronika songs—Small and Starlight, Rom recognizes. He wonders what it says about him, that he’s spent the past five years of his life pretending to hate everything about Trichronika while knowing every single one of their songs anyway.

“I didn’t know you still wrote songs on the piano.” Rom says. Shuu’s playing stops. He shrugs.

“It comes more naturally to me,” he says, not looking at Rom.

They fall quiet after that, Rom listening as Shuu shifts through several other Trichronika songs, and then—something else entirely.

“This is—” Rom says, and then stops. Shuu keeps on playing, humming the melody as he goes, and suddenly it’s like they’re in high school all over again, Rom chancing upon this gorgeous, mysterious boy in the music room, playing the piano and singing this exact song, and Rom suddenly barging in and blurting out, _do you want to join my band?_

“You still remember how to play it,” Rom says, and Shuu finally turns to him, and he smiles.

“I never forgot,” he replies.

 _I love you_ , Rom thinks.

He leans in instead, and kisses Shuu.

 

“I keep telling you to take care of yourself,” Rom growls, but even so he knows his face gives him away. He sits on the edge of the bed, presses a cold towel against Shuu’s burning forehead. Shuu laughs, and it’s raw and throaty and painful, and Rom _hates_ it.

“You’re a fucking mess,” he says. Shuu just looks at him, blinks his eyes innocently, and Rom laughs even in spite of himself.

“What are you going to do if you lose that pretty voice of yours, huh? What would your fans say?”

“I’ll go into modeling,” Shuu whispers. Rom rolls his eyes, presses the cloth harder against Shuu’s forehead.

“You’re practically already a model,” he mumbles. Shuu grins.

“Maybe I should fall sick more often, if that’s what it takes for you to flatter me like that.”

And it’s a joke, but Rom feels himself tensing up instinctively, hands balling into fists.

“Shut up,” he says, his voice low. “Stop it, don’t—You have to take care of yourself, _fuck_.”

Shuu lifts a hand, places it on Rom’s arm, and his skin is deathly cold and it just makes Rom even angrier.

“You always—since high school, fuck, you never know your own damn limits, you’re always overworking yourself, and if you won’t think about yourself at least think about everyone around you who’s _worried_ about you, godammit it, if you won’t think about me at least think about your band, your fucking _fans_ —”

Shuu squeezes Rom’s hand, and he stops abruptly, the words stuck in his throat. He looks at Shuu, at his pallid skin and the bags under his eyes, and inexplicitly, he’s smiling.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “For taking care of me.”

Heat crawls up Rom’s neck. Slowly, he rubs his thumb across Shuu’s cheek.

“Can I kiss you?” he says.

“You’ll get sick too,” Shuu says, but he’s smiling even wider now, and even though he’s pale and sweating and so sick he can barely move he’s still the center of Rom’s universe, and it’s so fucking embarrassing, and Rom does the only thing he can think of—leans down, presses his lips against Shuu’s dry and chapped ones.

“Just get better soon, you dumbass,” he says. Shuu closes his eyes, and smiles.

-

Shuu recovers in a matter of days. Rom falls sick for a week.

He’s happy. They both are.


End file.
